


The Ones Who Dance

by slightly_ajar



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Creepy Murdoc is creepy, Obsession, Team as Family, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: He inched the crosshairs slowly to the left so they rested neatly in the centre of MacGyver’s forehead.





	The Ones Who Dance

_And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music - Friedrich Nietzsche_

  
  


They all looked exhausted. Dark marks under their eyes, slumped shoulders, rumpled clothes. They’d clearly been up all night righting wrongs and saving the world for kittens and Little League teams and people who recycle. 

Murdoc wondered if they’d ever considered the fact that they’d saved the world for people like him too. The people that lived in the shadows. Liars. Murderers. They’d all woken safe and sound to a bright new day too. Things that slither and claw and infect had been allowed to live and carrying on doing all the depraved things that they enjoyed because of the hard working Phoenix team’s all-nighter. 

The best and brightest of the Phoenix Foundation were rejoicing in their victory by going to breakfast, because nothing celebrates giving dark and disturbed beings more time to indulge their vile cravings like orange juice and pancakes. 

Murdoc watched as the team filed into the diner. The gang was all there, Jack, Riley, Bozer, the Boy Scout, Matty and that new girl, Jill. The new girl was there too? That was interesting. Murdoc made a mental note to find out a bit more about her if she was going to become a more regular member of the Dream Team. They were smiling and chatting and holding the door open for each other and God, it was sickening. It was like he was watching a live action Disney movie through the sight of his sniper rifle. Murdoc wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d all broke out into a musical number about sunshine and friendship. With a co-ordinating dance routine by an energetic supporting cast. And a cameo from Zac Efron. 

He was a block away, lying on the roof of an office building, but Murdoc felt like he was part of the gathering. He could see the expressions on each of their faces like he was sitting among them, watch the conversation flow as they passed comments and jokes around with the ease of deep familiarity. His view was personal. Intimate. 

He could reach out, flex his finger and touch the scene in front of him. He could put a bullet through the diner’s window spraying glass into the room, filing it with screams and hundreds of tiny shards all sharp enough to draw blood. Maybe he could put that bullet into the wall next to where MacGyver’s blond head was bent over a menu. 

He could make contact. Clipping the new girl’s shoulder with a shot and scoring a line of red through the black and white dress she was wearing. It would be a way of saying hello, it was how he had introduced himself to Cage after all. The new girl was pretty in a geeky, sweet way and Murdoc felt sure she had never felt a bullet passing hot and relentless through her skin. He could open up a whole world of new emotions and sensations to her. It would be an education. 

Maybe he could take a shot that was more impactful. Impactful and, okay maybe it’s was unnecessarily lewd, but it was literally correct, penetrative. One where a bullet buried into flesh. 

A shot into Riley’s hand. Or perhaps Jack’s. Let them find out what it’s like to try to use a keyboard or ball fingers into a fist with a hole in the palm of their hand. 

He moved the rifle’s sight, lining up the cross hairs in the middle of Matty’s chest. Maybe he could take out the leader and remove the head of the Phoenix. A squeeze on his trigger and MacGyver would have to watch another mommy die. 

Murdoc looked down at his watch. He would allow himself a few more minutes. Any more would be an over indulgence and Murdoc wouldn’t let himself gorge. He wasn’t watching MacGyver to learn his habits or to decide on the best tactic to use to get to him. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he was wallowing in the fascination and revulsion he felt for his prey. 

MacGyver was brilliant. Innovative, intelligent and quick. He could have been doing amazing things. Stunning, captivating things but instead he had chosen to work with do-gooders and rule followers who did nothing but maintain the status quo. 

It was such a waste! It made Murdoc furious. And it _fascinated_ him. 

He was watching the little scene in the diner because he was intrigued by MacGyver. And if left unchecked intrigue could lead to fondness, then to empathy, and those things were an anathema to Murdoc. Except for when it came to Cassian. His son was the exception that proved the rule who was currently with the nice old lady from down the hall that Cassian liked and who Murdoc had decided he probably wouldn’t kill since he didn’t want to take anything away from his son. He wanted to be a good father, to give his son everything he needed to make him safe and happy. Cassian would never feel loss or fear when he was with him. He would be a better dad than his own father had been. Soon he would head back to the motel where they had been hiding under assumed names soon, back to his son and the life he was carefully constructing for them. 

But he had a few more minutes to spend with the Phoenix team. 

He inched the crosshairs slowly to the left so they rested neatly in the centre of MacGyver’s forehead. He was holding MacGyver’s life in his hands. 

Nothing felt more powerful than that. Nothing. And MacGyver should have been able to understand that. 

The precision of a perfect shot. 

The sweetness of the space between heart beats when the trigger is pulled. 

The clarity of a kill shot. 

Instead he rushed around interrupting the flight of bullets and freezing the countdown of detonations. 

A bomb that doesn’t explode is nothing. When the fire and impact it was built for doesn't happen all that is left is emptiness. Instead of creating heat and pressure it creates nothing, filling the world with a blank space where there should have been light and sound and motion. Everything, every element that does and will ever exist was created in the heart of an exploding star, MacGyver would know that and yet he still insisted on halting detonations that were in themselves tiny supernovas, explosions that would create fire, alter life and bring about death. 

It was disgusting. It was worse than that, it was boring. 

Murdoc’s fingers caressed the trigger, tempted by his anger. A double tap and MacGyver would be gone and Murdoc would have triumphed. 

It would be so easy. 

He backed away, moving his hand from the trigger of his gun. 

Where would the sport be in a victory like that? The fun? 

Murdoc would take MacGyver out, along with his little Scooby gang of buddies who wasted their time pointlessly talking and laughing and caring about each other. He couldn’t understand that. The mess, the imprecision of it all, of human contact, human relationships, friendship. It baffled him. 

He would take MacGyver out. He would do it the time was right. When he had devised the perfect method. He wanted it to be exquisite. To create art that was flawlessly timed for when the moment was at its most piquant. If he was careful enough and clever enough he MacGyver’s death would be something inspirational. Something transcendent. 

It wasn’t something to be wasted on a shot that any halfwit sniper could manage. It wasn’t going to be today. 

Soon. 

He packed his rifle into its case with the care usually reserved for placing sleeping newborn babies into their cots and climbed down to the street below, disappearing into the crowds and becoming just another tiny part of the flow of humanity moving along the sidewalk. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story happened the wrong way round.
> 
> I was reminded of the Nietzsche quote on a TV show, I'm a big geek, I love quotes and collect ones I like in a notebook, and thought that Those that Dance sounded like the title of a story. 
> 
> Then I wondered what kind of story would go with that title and decided it would be about someone who wasn't part of the team looking in which then made me think of Murdoc...
> 
> It turns out that writing as a creepy psychopath is actually quite fun. Who'da thunk :)


End file.
